


Better Than Watching Paint Dry

by pavlablack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: R/S Kink, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, Kink Meme, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Smut, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pavlablack/pseuds/pavlablack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur Weasley decides to paint Remus's room at Grimmauld Place the Muggle Way, Remus and Sirius share a lot more than a room for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Watching Paint Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Anything you recognize belongs to JKR, not me. Thanks to rewrites24 for looking over the first part of this. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

It was all Arthur Weasley's fault. If he hadn't insisted on painting Remus's room at Grimmauld Place the Muggle way, resulting in puce walls and fumes more noxious than Bobotuber pus, Remus would not be laying out a sleeping bag on Sirius's bedroom floor.

"Remind me again why I didn't take one of the guest rooms?" he asks after changing into his pyjamas.

"Because they're full to the brim with Weasleys." Sirius sits down on the bed and begins unlacing his boots.

"Right." Remus sets his carefully folded clothes on the wardrobe before settling down on the sleeping bag. "Still, the sofa in the drawing room isn't half bad."

"Are you mad? There are still cursed objects floating about, you idiot." Sirius kicks off his boots and strips off his socks.

"I _am_ a former Professor of the Dark Arts, you know. Think I can handle a cursed object or two."

"Have you forgotten my mother's portrait going on and on about the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black taking revenge on half-breeds that dare defile it?" Sirius shudders. "Merlin knows what horrors await you in your sleep."

"There is that," Remus concedes, fluffing his pillow and resigning himself to an uncomfortable night on the floor. "Suppose all I have to worry about here is your snoring. And what this floor is going to do to my back."

"Don't know what you're complaining about," Sirius says, shrugging off his denims. "It's not as if you're not used to it. The Shack wasn't exactly full of creature comforts."

"Luckily, I haven't had to endure that particular torture for quite some time." A moment too late, Remus realises how insensitive it is to whinge about discomfort and torture to a man who spent twelve years in Azkaban and one hiding out in caves. He looks up to gauge Sirius's expression but is met with the man's bare chest as he pulls his jumper off.

"Well, take the bed if you like," Sirius says, gathering up his clothes and tossing them into a corner. "Doesn't matter to me."

"No, it's fine. Forgot how much of a messy sod you are though."

"Wanker. Just for that, I might not share any of this with you." Sirius reaches over to the bedside drawer and pulls out a pewter flask.

"Taken to drinking alone?" Remus says it lightly, but he can't help letting a note of concern creep into his voice. He knows how difficult it is for Sirius to be stuck back in his childhood home, and he realises guiltily how little time he's spent with Sirius since moving in. Well, time that hasn't been spent ridding the cupboards of Boggarts and trying to figure out which cursed object is trying to kill them next. 

"Not alone now, am I?" Sirius asks, flopping back onto the bed in his boxers and taking a swig before handing the container to Remus.

"No." Remus hesitates before lifting it to his lips. "You're not. Listen, Sirius, I know we haven't had much time to talk, what with all the housecleaning—"

"Don't remind me. There's still my father's study to contend with tomorrow."

"—but I hope you know that I'm here, if you need anything."

What Sirius says next is completely unexpected.

"Thanks, Moony, I know. Don't suppose you could get me good and shagged, could you?"

Remus coughs up the Firewhiskey he had been on his way to swallowing.

Sirius leans over to pound him on the back, laughing. "Sorry," he says, as Remus continues to cough. "But if you'd just seen your face—"

"It's all right," Remus says hoarsely, eyes watering and throat burning. "You might have given me some warning before saying something like that."

"Well, you offered." Sirius reclaims the flask and studies it before taking another drink. "So, what about you? Shagging anyone these days?"

Remus rolls his eyes. "I see you're as tasteful as ever. And no, unfortunately not."

"No sense beating round the bush. And speaking of beating around bushes, what about Tonks?"

"What about her?"

"I've seen the way she bats her eyes at you during Order meetings."

"She does not bat her eyes. Well, except when she's changing their colour. Oh, never mind. Hand that back over, you twat."

" _Her_ twat's probably quite nice."

Remus grabs a magazine from underneath Sirius's bed and swats him. "Enough. She's your cousin, you know. Show some respect."

"Relax. I'm only joking. Git." Sirius takes another drink before passing the flask back to Remus.

"I see your wanking material hasn't changed," Remus says, lying on his side now and absently flipping through the magazine he'd hit Sirius with, _The Wizard Chooses the Wand_. As he prods the pages, the men in the pictures change positions and activities.

"Fuck. Thought I put that away."

"You never put anything away."

"Yeah, guess not. Well, then, speaking of wanking, mind if I have a go?"

Remus stares up at Sirius from the magazine, eyes wide. "You're not serious."

"Who else would I be?"

"Suppose I walked right into that one," he sighs, nudging the page he's on again, so that the men who had been sucking each other off now stretch out on opposite sides of the room, watching each other fist their own cocks.

He closes the magazine quickly and thrusts the flask back at Sirius.

"C'mon, Moony," Sirius says, fingers sliding across Remus's as his voice takes on the puppy-dog quality he always uses to get what he wants. "It's not like we haven't wanked in the same room before. We shared a dorm for seven years, for fuck's sake. Remember that time when—"

"We are _not_ talking about that." Remus blushes, sliding a knee forward to keep Sirius from seeing the immediate impact his words have on Remus's cock.

"Why not?" Sirius traces the lip of the flask with his finger before offering it to Remus again.

Remus just shakes his head. He already feels a little lightheaded, and he doesn't need any more Firewhiskey in his system to cloud his judgment right now. "We're just . . . not."

"Fine." Sirius downs the rest of the Firewhiskey before tossing the empty flask back into the drawer and slamming it.

"Don't pout."

"I can't help it!" Sirius swings his legs over the edge of the bed and lets his face fall into his hands. "I'm just so bloody horny and I haven’t had sex since . . . "

Remus feels heat flood his cheeks again, this time from shame. Of course Sirius is frustrated. He's been locked up or on the run in one way or another for the last thirteen years.

"I thought perhaps last year—"

"Not exactly shagging material at that point, was I?" Sirius says bitterly. "I mean, I certainly wouldn't have wanted to shag me, and I used to fantasise about doing myself all the time."

"Ever the narcissist."

"Yeah. Used to be, anyway."

Remus sits up and pulls Sirius's hands from his face. "I'm sorry, Padfoot. I know it's been hard."

Sirius looks down at the bulge in his underwear and lets out a frustrated snigger.

"Not the best choice of words, I suppose," Remus starts to laugh but it dies in his throat as Sirius presses their clasped hands to his erection.

"Sirius—"

"Sorry," Sirius says, freeing Remus's hands and letting his own drop to his sides. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Padfoot. And it's not as if you're the only one a bit . . . out of sorts at the moment." He gestures to his own tented pyjama bottoms.

"Right," Sirius says. And is it Remus's imagination, or do his eyes linger a bit longer than necessary? "Well, then. How about I just turn out the light, and we'll both try to be quiet? It'll be just like old times." He grabs his wand from the bedside table and points it towards the lamp.

"Don't."

Sirius freezes, wand in mid-air, as Remus's hand closes around his ankle, his fingers stroking the soft hairs there. "Remus?"

Remus releases his hold. What on earth possessed him to touch Sirius like that? "Sorry. I—" He stares into the folds of his sleeping bag.

"Fuck, Moony," Sirius groans. "That's not fair." He gives Remus a halfhearted kick before swinging his legs back onto the bed. "Just for that, I ought to be extra loud."

"As if you were ever anything but," Remus jokes, but his throat is suddenly dry as he remembers all those nights in the dormitory, listening to Sirius's erratic breathing and the slap-slap-slap of skin on skin as Sirius brought himself off in the bed just across the room but oh so far away.

"Do you want the light off or on?" Sirius asks, and Remus braves a look. Sirius is leaning against the headboard, eyes closed and knees drawn up, his legs slightly parted. The tip of his cock peeks out from the opening in his boxers, and Remus's own cock twitches at the sight.

Oh, fuck it.

"On," he says, his heart hammering as he stands and moves to the bed, sitting cross-legged across from Sirius at the foot of it.

Sirius's eyes fly open. "What are you doing?"

"Thought you said you wanted a wank," Remus says lightly, though he's sure Sirius can hear the tremor in his voice. "I could use one, too."

A look of shock passes over Sirius's face, but then he flushes, his eyes darkening. "Don't feel sorry for me, Remus."

Remus can't help but feel hurt. "I don't."

"Yes, you do." Sirius casts his eyes downward, picking at the edge of the coverlet.

"No, Sirius, I really don't," Remus sighs, feeling his erection diminish slightly from nerves and exasperation. _It's hard to feel sorry for someone who does such a bloody good job feeling sorry for himself_ , he almost says. He runs a hand through his hair, searching for the right words. "I . . . feel sorry for what happened to you, and for my part in it. But I don't feel sorry for you."

Sirius lets his eyes meet Remus's again, the angry look now replaced with a questioning one. "All right, then. Are you sure about . . . this?"

""I'm sure," Remus says, suddenly wishing the room was a bit darker.

"Only, it looks like you've lost your . . . " Sirius gestures to Remus's lap.

Remus lets out a nervous laugh. "Maybe you could help me out with that," he says, feeling heat rise to his cheeks and desire pool in his groin again.

"Do you want the magazine? Or, hang on." He rummages through the bedside drawer. "I've got these others if that one didn’t—"

"Tell me about that night."

Sirius lets the pile of magazines slide to the floor and throws himself back onto the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest. Remus can't quite bring himself to meet Sirius's eyes, so he keeps his eyes locked on Sirius's throat as he swallows. "What night?"

"You know what night," he whispers, his cock aching with the memory of it. "You were there."

"You want me to—" Sirius licks his lips. "You want me to tell you—"

"Yes." Remus scoops up his wand from the floor and dims the room just enough to lessen the harsh light but not so much that he and Sirius can't still see each other. Because he wants to see everything this time. "I want you to tell me about it," he says, finally looking into Sirius's eyes again as he lets his hand drift towards his crotch, "while you touch yourself."

"Fuck, Remus." Sirius lets out a low moan as he presses a hand to his cock, and Remus's breath catches. "All right."

"It was a Saturday night, like this one. Prongs was out with Lily," Sirius says tightly, and Remus watches the pain flash in his eyes for a moment. "Pete was God knows where."

"Go on," Remus says softly, tracing a finger along the line of his cock.

Sirius blinks, and then begins stroking himself slowly over his pants, never taking his eyes from Remus. "I'd just gotten back from detention and I was hoping we could sneak out to the pubs and get pissed. But you were already dressed for bed. You were wearing something a lot like you're wearing now, actually." He takes in the threadbare knees of Remus's pyjamas and gives him a questioning look.

Remus blushes. "Yeah, they're the same ones."

"I like them. I remember how soft they felt against my legs," he says quietly, his eyes looking into Remus's with such intensity that Remus has to look away. He feels the bed move and hears Sirius rummaging through the drawer again.

When he hears a squelching sound, Remus looks up to find Sirius squeezing a generous portion of lube into his palm. "Here," he says, but instead of handing Remus the bottle, he tosses it onto the bed and reaches across with his empty hand. "I remember this, too," Sirius says as he slicks Remus's fingers, and oh God, if Remus wasn't completely hard before, he certainly is now.

"You're skipping ahead," whispers Remus, his heart rate tripling.

"Right." Sirius squeezes Remus's hand before letting go and leaning back against his pillows. He tosses Remus one and lets him get comfortable before continuing. "I'll slow down, then. The story, at least," he says, slipping a hand into the opening of his underwear to free his cock and run a thumb along the glistening head. "Ah. Feels so good. Come on, Remus," he whispers. "Touch yourself. I want you to feel it, too."

"Fuck yes," Remus groans, sliding his hand down into his pyjamas and gasping in relief as his fingers close around his throbbing cock. He keeps his eyes locked on Sirius, mirroring his movements so that he can pretend it's Sirius's hand sliding up and around his shaft, circling the head with his thumb, squeezing and twisting deliciously on the way back down. God, Sirius looks fucking amazing doing this, and Remus doesn't know what's more of a turn-on—the sight of the slippery head sliding in and out of Sirius's long fingers, or the look on Sirius's face, flushed with desire, as his hair falls into his half-closed eyes.

"You said you were too tired to go out," Sirius goes on, stroking himself more languidly now as he looks at Remus, signaling him to slow down, "so instead, we drank the Firewhiskey I'd smuggled out of my father's liquor cabinet."

"It was stronger than what we were used to," Remus says, taking deep breaths and trying to pace himself. He wants to take off his clothes, wants Sirius to watch his own hand as it slides up and over his prick. Wants to do what he wasn't brave enough to do that night. But he waits.

"It wasn't long before we were both pissed," Sirius agrees, arching back as his hand slides over the head of his cock again. "So I thought it was as good a time as any to tell you what I wanted."

"What you wanted—" Remus pants, thumbing the head of his cock as Sirius does the same to his own.

"I wanted to have a wank," Sirius says, squeezing his length again, "but I wanted you to have one too. I wanted to watch you, and for you to watch me."

"We were sitting next to each other on the floor, only our legs touching, our pants bunched up around our knees." Sirius lifts his hips and slides his pants off. "Fuck, Moony, you smelled so good. I wanted to touch you but I couldn't think how, so I slid my wet fingers around yours, hoping you'd give me some sign that it was all right."

Remus knows the only sign he gave Sirius that night was that he was a complete and utter coward. He'd kept his eyes closed the whole time and disappeared to the Prefect's bathroom for the rest of the night, ignoring Sirius for the next several days because he was sure it was just a drunken lark that Sirius would hate him for.

He won't make that mistake again. "That what was all right?" he asks, gathering up his courage, and this time, Sirius is the one with his eyes closed. "Sirius? Did you—do you—want to touch me?"

Sirius's eyes fly open. He uncurls his hand from his cock and Remus takes a moment to admire it, long and lush and pink against the dark hairs between Sirius's legs.

Sirius reaches out to tug at the bottom of Remus's pyjamas, and when Remus uncrosses his legs and inches forward, Sirius grabs him by the hips and yanks him across the bed, lifting Remus's hips and sliding his pyjamas down.

"Fuck, yes," Remus says, kicking them the rest of the way off and wrapping his legs around Sirius's back as Sirius pulls him close, close, closer, and there it is at last—the delicious feeling of their cocks sliding together. "Is this—what you—wanted?" he pants as Sirius wraps a hand around him and he returns the gesture, equally thrilled to touch and be touched by Sirius in such an intimate way.

"Yes," Sirius moans, arching into his touch. "But not only this."

Remus is already on sensation overload and knows he's not going to last much longer, so he reluctantly removes his hand from Sirius's cock and guides Sirius's hand to the base of his own. "What then?" he asks, searching Sirius's eyes. And the way Sirius looks at him—God, his heart aches with the joy of being looked at this way, by this man. "Sirius, tell me," he says, breathing heavily and pressing their foreheads together.

Sirius doesn't speak, but lets go of Remus and reaches for the lube. He squeezes out much more than necessary, Remus thinks, until Sirius links both of their hands, sliding their fingers together until they're slippery and wet. He wraps his left hand around Remus's cock again, but slides his right between Remus's parted legs until it presses gently against the puckered flesh of Remus's arse. "This," he says, urging Remus's hips apart as he spreads his own legs a little wider and lifts his hips in invitation. "But only if you want to."

"Oh, God," Remus moans, sliding a hand between Sirius's legs and cupping his balls before letting his wet finger tease at Sirius's entrance. He wraps his other hand around Sirius's cock, but Sirius has a better idea, twining their fingers together so that their hands wrap around both of their cocks. It's a little clumsy because they can't balance themselves very well, but Remus couldn't care less because it feels fucking amazing.

"Want to feel you," Sirius says, sliding his finger along the crevice of Remus's arse, and even though Remus has no idea what he's doing, he follows Sirius's lead. He's never done this before, but God, he's gagging for it, to be filled and to fill Sirius and touch him in every way possible. He can feel himself opening up, and if he had a free hand, he'd press Sirius's finger inside his arse because, fuck, he wants it there _now_ , and then it _is_ , and Remus lets his own finger slide into Sirius's arse because now that he knows how fucking good it feels, he wants Sirius to feel it too.

"Oh, God, Remus," Sirius says, "you feel so good," and they both speed up their movements, Remus gasping as the slap-slap-slap of skin on skin and the realisation that he and Sirius are essentially fucking each other at the same time bring him closer and closer to release.

"Sirius, I—"

"I know, Moony, I know," Sirius gasps, running his tongue along Remus's neck and sighing into his ear, and for all the ways they've touched each other tonight, this is what sends Remus over the edge.

"Oh," he shudders, his orgasm spilling over their hands and cocks, and then Sirius cries out and does the same.

"Moony," Sirius whispers, his finger sliding out of Remus's arse and his hand letting go of his cock, and Remus has only a moment to regret the lack of contact before Sirius wraps one arm around his back, the other hand gathering a fistful of Remus's pyjama shirt as he rests his head against Remus's neck.

Remus breathes him in, feels his heartbeat fluttering against his own as their sated, sweat-slicked bodies press together. Part of him would like to stay like this all night, but he's sticky and stiff and he really has to take a piss.

"I've got to go to the loo," he whispers, stroking Sirius's back.

Sirius stiffens. "Right," he says, pulling away and searching the bed for . . . Remus's pyjama bottoms, apparently. "Here. You'll be wanting these back, I suppose." He puts his boxers back on and lies back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Sirius, what's wrong?" Remus takes his pyjama shirt off and cleans himself up before doing the same to Sirius, who still won't look at him.

"Nothing. It's just—"

"What?" Remus asks, deciding that putting his pyjama bottoms on can wait until they've sorted this out. Whatever this is.

"That was more than a wank, wouldn't you say?"

Remus sits down on the edge of the bed. "Well, yes," he answers, confused. "Are you . . . do you regret it?"

"No, Remus, I don't," Sirius says angrily. "But how long are you going to avoid me this time?"

And it all comes together. _"I've got to go to the loo,"_ he'd said that night he bollocksed it all up.

"Sirius. Come here." It takes some doing, but when Sirius realises he's not going to give up, he allows himself to be pulled up and into an embrace. "I'm not going anywhere," he says fervently, realising that for all they've done tonight, there's something very important they haven't done, and he wants to do it now. So he leans forward and kisses Sirius. Sirius is a stubborn man, but eventually he lets his lips be parted as Remus kisses him softly, slowly, because this is a first kiss but certainly not a last one.

"You're not?" Sirius asks when they come up for air, searching Remus's eyes.

"Well, I am going to the loo. But I promise I'll be back. And I was thinking," he says, taking in Sirius's room, picturing what they did tonight, and what he'd like to do tomorrow. 

"Yeah?"

"This room could use a fresh coat of paint."


End file.
